


Black-bird

by GryfoTheGreat



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Birds, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, but i just couldn't? y'know?, idk man this was supposed to Have Meaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9339368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryfoTheGreat/pseuds/GryfoTheGreat
Summary: A trip to the Myrlwood yields more than just fireflies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through the end of chapter 8, though nothing serious.  
> If you want to shoot me an XV-related prompt over on Tumblr at gryfothewriter, go for it, before I cave and write a K-pop idol AU. No spoilers, please; I haven't yet gathered the courage to get on the boat to Altissia :(

“Why are we here again?” Prompto asks.

“Fishing,” Noctis responds neatly as they wend their way through the Myrlwood. “And bugs.”

“Don't we have more pressing affairs to take care of?” Ignis says, trying not to nag. It's simply that Cid is waiting for them, ready to weigh anchor at any time, and Noctis, instead of dashing off to Altissia as Ignis would like him to, is rather determined to catch all the fish he can.

Gladiolus, as usual, is no help, “Let him off, Iggy,” he says. “This is his last chance to…” He pauses, and shakes his head. “Well, it's his last chance. From here on out, it’s a straight shoot to Niflheim.”

Ignis says nothing out loud. What Gladiolus is saying is true. It’s useless to refute him.

Once they've cleared the area of monsters, Noctis sets himself down on the pier, intent on fishing the day away. He dozes off occasionally, only to be awakened by a tug on his line. Prompto occupies himself by dismantling his camera for reasons beyond Ignis’ ken and organizing his photo album. Gladiolus makes phone calls to contacts in Altissia and the Crown City, pausing only to bark unwarranted advice at Noctis. Ignis, having finished setting up camp at Pectriche Haven takes the opportunity to do some maintenance, mending rips in clothing and bags and tents, organizing items and foodstuffs and repairing miscellaneous items, including but not limited to Gladiolus’ wonky folding chair and his own glasses.

Once they have been safely perched on his nose, he notices that Noctis has packed up for the day. “Fished out?” he asks.

Noctis makes a sour face. “Out of line.” He nods at the path that leads to the Treant’s former den. “We need to go catch those fireflies for Sania. Then we can sleep.” Ignis smiles unconsciously; it never fails to amuse him that Noctis says the word sleep like Prompto says chocobo, or Gladiolus says Cup Noodle.

Gladiolus casts a look at the darkened sky. “’Bout time.”

Prompto checks his phone; the display reads ‘19:24’. “It's been dark since four o’clock…”

None of them say what they are all thinking; that the daylight has grown shorter in a fashion too rapid to be easily explained by the changing rotation of the planet, that the nights are longer and darker and filled with daemons, each more powerful than the last.

Instead, Noctis says, “Let’s go, then.” They divvy up the equipment Sania had provided; a net for Noctis and Gladiolus, and carefully prepared jars for Ignis and Prompto, lined with wet cloth and capped with pierced lids.

“We’ll go left,” Gladiolus whispers, once they’ve reached the clearing. “You two take the right.” Ignis nods approval, but Prompto is too distracted by Noctis, who wields the net as if it were a sword. His hand twitches towards his camera, but a cutting look from Ignis puts paid to that.

Once Prompto and Gladiolus are out of range, Ignis feels strangely lonely, though Noctis is right in front of him, stalking an innocent firefly. It's simply that he's used to the other two, more so than when they set out. He knew Gladiolus and Prompto, of course; he and Gladiolus had become fast friends in the course of their guardianship of Noctis, and Prompto spent much of youth hanging around Noctis’ apartment.

Yet there is a difference between knowing someone, and _knowing_ someone. It is the difference between knowing that they like coffee and knowing how they like their coffee, between knowing that they like reading and knowing exactly where they are in the book they're reading, between knowing they snore when they sleep and knowing when they’re faking sleep from said snores. It is a subtle line, but Ignis lives and dies by subtleties. He knows them all as well as he knows himself. Better, perhaps. He is not prone to introspection.

“Ah!” Noctis lashes out with pin-point accuracy and traps the firefly; the light it provides illuminates the quiet smile on his face, rarer now than ever before. Ignis offers the jar and Noctis, after copious twitches of the net, manoeuvres the bug into it. “Four more should do the trick.”

“Indeed,” Ignis says, and directs Noctis towards one hovering by the pond’s edge. They catch that one, and one buzzing by a tree-trunk, and another investigating a fern. They trap the last one when it goes for the torch attached to Noctis’ shirt.

“That should do it,” Noctis says, taking the jar from him and screwing the lid on tightly. “Let’s go rescue the others before Prompto gets them into trouble.”

Ignis does not respond; he is too busy trying to make out a shifting shadow in an alcove. “Wait,” he says softly. “I was under the impression that we had cleared the area of monsters.

“Might be a daemon,” Noctis says dubiously, examining the shadows with keen eyes. “But they don't like the tombs.”

“I shall investigate. Stay here.” Predictably, Noctis does not obey; he sticks close behind him as Ignis stalks the shadow, one hand gripping a sheathed dagger.

The shadow moves, and Ignis strikes, only for Noctis to restrain him. “Ignis, it’s - it's a chocobo chick!” Ignis shrugs him off to kneel before the bird, which is letting out little fearful kwehs. “It's only a baby…”

“Look for the nest.” Noctis moves off as Ignis dims the torch affixed to his lapel so as not to blind the creature and reaches out slowly, slowly, nudging his fingers towards the chocobo’s black beak. It sniffs at his hand curiously, nips his index finger, and warks sadly. “It's alright,” he mutters. “We won't hurt you.” He wishes he had some chocobo greens on him, but the birds refuse to enter the Myrlwood and he'd left them in the Regalia.

“Ignis,” Noctis says, quietly. “It's empty, and all the straw is rotten.”

“It's been abandoned.” The chocobo looks at him with deep, dark eyes.

They say nothing for a long while as the chocobo investigates Ignis thoroughly, nosing at his empty pockets and muddied shoes.

“Can we keep it?” Noctis says suddenly.

Ignis sighs and begins to reprimand him, but before he can get the words out the chocobo finally settles in his lap, nuzzling into his shirt. It begins to let out little snuffling snores that vividly remind him of Prompto. When he turns to look at the prince, he has that smug smirk on his face that means he thinks he's won.

In this case, he has. “Only until we get to Wiz Chocobo Post,” Ignis stipulates, as they return to Pectriche Haven, the chocobo snoozing safely in Ignis’ arms. “We've no business trying to raise a chocobo and get you married off at the same time.”

“Killjoy.” Noctis wanders ahead, holding the firefly jar up before him to guide them. The light plays across his face in such a way that for an instant, he looks exactly like his father.

“That's my job,” Ignis says, before he can get side-tracked by thoughts of King Regis. “Where would you be without me to rain on your parade?”

“Dead in a ditch somewhere.” Noctis turns around and – well, he doesn't smile, he's rather too self-conscious to do much of that – but Ignis knows this boy inside out, and he knows what that look means. “Well? Any name for our feathered friend?”

Ignis glances at the little thing, gnawing on his shirt button in its sleep. “Hmm. It's irritating, sleepy, smelly and likes wearing black.” He pauses. “I think I'll name it Noct.”

The prince trips over an errant tree root. Ignis scoops the firefly jar out of mid-air as Noctis collides with the ground, and ignores his cursing in favour of shushing the chocobo as it stirs in its sleep. “Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, as camp comes into view, Prompto frantically dodging a net-wielding Gladiolus. “We’ll take care of you.”


End file.
